Nightfall
by MorellaFics
Summary: A young woman strays into the path of shadows, and finds herself at the center of intense political and personal conflict. Temptations and new enemies await her at every turn, and the person she can trust the least is herself.
1. Chapter 1 The Door

Rating (this chapter): PG

Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to WoW and don't make any money off this.

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_**Chapter 1 - The Door**_

Merihem already knew about the door in the back wall of the Slaughtered Lamb tavern. She had known for a long time. Curiosity led her to it. The Slaughtered Lamb barkeep had eyed her appraisingly as she pressed it open. Merihem had met his piercing gaze calmly; he peered into her, searching. Intuitively she felt he was the keeper of this doorway, that none could pass it unless he found the correct arrangement of desires and feelings and aspirations within. When the man finally looked away, Merihem felt as if a key had clicked into place within an intangible lock: she knew she was opening more than just the door in front of her. She felt no fear, though; only a tense anticipation and renewed longing.

The place below had since become Merihem's sanctuary. Descending the winding ramp into the crypt she felt the pressures of the world above slip away. She sank into a darker, more primal place. Carved from the earth itself, primitive energies and feelings stirred here, concealed under the skin of the tightly ordered city above. Merihem felt a natural kinship with this place. It was cool, slightly damp, and almost as silent as might be expected from a crypt. The silence was offset by the sibilant rustling of robes and the soft patter of footsteps, occasionally punctuated by a sputtering flame or the sharp clicking and clanking of hooves. A soft hum of almost-whispered voices and shifting parchment echoed gently. It was an eerie, tranquil place. Merihem found it both soothing and exciting.

At first she was confused by the sounds of hooves. How could livestock be kept underground? Her naive curiosity was promptly replaced with shock when she rounded a corner and found herself face to face with one of the catacomb's denizens. Frozen in place by shock, she could only gape uselessly at the monster in front of her. Small, glittering red eyes locked onto hers, muscles bunched and coiled beneath plate armor, and suddenly she noticed the huge, spattered axe being hoisted above her head, ready to end her in single swipe.

"That's not necessary... at least not at this exact moment. Who have we here?" came a small but stern voice from somewhere behind the monster.

The monster curled his lips at her, revealing rows of small pointed teeth. Despite the fact that moments earlier she had been in mortal danger, Merihem made no move to run away. Astonishment had numbed her and she stood gaping at the thing in front of her. He stepped back, and the sound of his steps quickly dispelled Merihem's now-foolish idea about livestock. The creature was a demon, of course; as such he had no feet, but rather massive, armored hooves that clopped sharply on the stone floor.

"Well?" the small voice came again, more insistently, "who have we here?"

Merihem blinked, and forced her sluggish brain back up through the fog of surprise. Demons! In Stormwind! Weren't they the mortal enemies of all life on Azeroth? Why did it seem that great numbers of them were contentedly dwelling beneath the surface of the Alliance's greatest and most holy city? As far as Merihem knew, demons did not hold other life forms in particularly high regard; why this one obeyed commands was utterly beyond her.

"Merihem", she blurted out her name after another moment's hesitation. She had to look downward to address the voice who had spoken earlier. Standing just higher than her kneecap, a grizzled-looking gnome grunted in response. The gnome may have been old or young; Merihem couldn't tell. His sharp facial features and prominent nose were largely masked by an impressively sculpted growth of charcoal-colored facial hair. Peering out from above were a pair of glittering black eyes.

"Merihem," the gnome repeated rather nastily, "And what exactly are you doing here? Your robes are indicative of involvement with magi. Such types are... not welcome here. You should know this, and know you made a fatal error in coming here."

The demon practically purred with excitement and hefted his axe again. Merihem cast a sidelong glance at him, noted his body, exposed from the waist up, poised and flexed, ready to strike. The shock she felt earlier was quickly strangled by fear.

"Wait!" she gasped, "wait... I'm not... I mean, I am associated with magi, but..." Merihem trailed off weakly, realizing suddenly how ridiculous it was that she had come here. Fraternizing with these people and these demons was not healthy or constructive or good. Anlorre had warned her and the other mage students about the dangerous temptations of dark magic; the power and insight it offered a student such as herself, followed by the agonizing destruction of their mind and enslavement by the Burning Legion. Anlorre had described this as a final, total result. To her, there could be alternatives. Merihem looked at the small gnome in front of her. He was deeply calm and radiated an aura of subtle power and competence. Intimidating, despite his diminutive stature. He seemed very much in command of the demon at his side.

The gnome narrowed his eyes. "But what?" he pressed. The demon stamped a hoof, clearly peeved at being unable to put his axe to use.

"It's not enough," Merihem said suddenly, "There's no wonder in it, there's no reverence. It's sterile and static and... almost mechanical, I guess. I don't feel that it embodies life, or the 'spirit of Universe', or whatever else it claims. It's a lie. I want to understand, but instead of being encouraged to delve further I'm simply boxed in, shut out, forcibly turned away. There are walls and boundaries and barriers and they are absolute. The Elements are the Elements and that's it. There's nothing visceral and alive and powerful in that. It's just... I don't know, like a living manifestation of a textbook."

Merihem blinked with confusion, startled at her sudden verbosity. She had never shared this with anyone before; she didn't understand why it suddenly poured out in a confession to this strange gnome in a demon-filled crypt.

The gnome was silent for a moment, drawn into himself as he studied her words. She could feel the demon's eyes on her, unsettlingly warm, and resisted the temptation to look at him further.

"Go. Return here tomorrow," the gnome commanded softly.

"But who..." Merihem began.

"I said go and return tomorrow," he repeated in a tone that brooked no argument.

Still confused, Merihem wandered up out of the crypt. As she passed the Slaughtered Lamb bartender, he nodded approvingly at her and said, "See ya tomorrow."

Merihem waved silently. How did he know? What was this place really? Merihem's mind was crowded with the unlikely company of unknowns and something like sensory overload. She mentally replayed another of Anlorre's lectures: the history of magic. Long ago, evil was brought into the world by magi who grew greedy and megalomaniacal, those who sought power and shirked responsibility, those who placed personal gain before the needs of their fellows. These fallen magi turned their backs on nature, and chose instead the embrace of shadows and the creatures who dwelled within them. They became allies of the Burning Legion and enemies of life, vastly powerful and equally terrible. They were oathbreakers: warlocks.

The brutal face and hulking, muscled body of the demon in the crypt burst into her mind. Of course, she thought, there were warlocks here. Despite numerous attempts to eradicate them, the dark magi had never been fully destroyed. They hid in basements and crypts and forests adjacent to cities, masquerading in the light of day as ordinary people, conducting their errands under the watchful but myopic eyes of the King and the Church of Light. Merihem sensed that Anlorre knew of them; the intensity with which she had spoken was not the byproduct of research or hearsay. Why did she not pursue their destruction? Was there an uneasy truce between the two schools of magic now? Despite her high regard for the older mage's superior wisdom and experience, Merihem felt that her own new experience with warlocks did not line up with the images her instructor described. After her unexpected confession to the gnome, she felt a hint of kinship with him. He had used no tricks or magic to force her to speak. The words had simply tumbled out as her inner voice sensed a willing ear. The usual barricade between her mind and mouth had dissolved; in the crypt there had been no need for self-consciousness. Those who dwelt there already existed far beyond ordinary rules and convention, so there were simply none to be broken. Surely the warlocks had their own codes and laws, but when thinking of what they may be Merihem envisioned not a series of rigid walls, but rather a thick, winding forest, fluid and full of darkness and life, drawing her further in not through fear of retribution but through desire. An overwhelming urge to return to the crypt swept over her, but she resisted. The very real repercussions of associating with warlocks loomed large in her mind… as did the demon's eagerness for her blood. She had only survived because of the gnome's inexplicable mercy and it was doubtful he'd be so beneficent a second time. All the same, the intensity of her desire to return almost frightened her. It was a rash and life-threatening urge, running firmly against her usual grain of practicality and security. Merihem added the unnerving strength of her desire and curiosity to the list of things she didn't understand, and tried for a moment to think more realistically. The gnome had asked her to return tomorrow, presumably at the same time. This was doable. After the day's lessons were complete, she was unattended for a few hours before being expected back at the dormitory. The great challenge between now and then would be to act as if she wondered nothing and understood everything, as if she felt no desire and only complacence. Anlorre's astuteness and exceptionally keen powers of observation were no secret to Merihem, and she had no doubt that the older woman would sense confusion, turmoil, and perhaps catch a hint of the demon's lingering gaze in her eyes. If Anlorre noticed, lying was not an option. No lie escaped her detection.

Merihem drew deep breaths as she walked back to the dormitory, clearing her mind, blissfully alone amidst the crowded streets of Stormwind. This moving meditation had never failed to soothe Merihem. Even during times of great anxiety, the coolness and long velvety shadows of evening brought her peace. This time, instead of welcoming blankness and clarity, images of the demon danced unbidden in her mind. Details of his face and body blinked into mental focus from the shadows. Merihem felt no fear, grasping at these small fragments of an image, longing to piece them together into a meaning. Merihem was also aware, on a more conscious level, of the sheer ridiculousness of this; a demon who nearly killed her was not the place to find a meaning for anything, other than perhaps her own foolishness. Close to home now, she focused on the lights in the dormitory windows instead of the beckoning shadows.


	2. Chapter 2 Dilemmas

Rating (this chapter): PG

Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to WoW and don't make any money off this.

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_**Chapter 2 - Dilemmas**_

Anlorre was not a woman who simply looked at things. She was a woman who noticed things, who could truly see. Anlorre had never been a brilliant mage or a stellar student, but had never done poorly either. Even so she landed a magic instructorship at an unusually young age, largely because of her preternatural powers of observation and her unyielding diligence and attention to detail, her drive to do things the right way. Merihem respected Anlorre greatly because of this, as her marks indicated that she herself was not particularly brilliant or precocious. Instead of Anlorre's stolid practicality and self-discipline, however, Merihem was endowed with a wild curiosity and a strange open-hearted innocence that conquered all fear.

Merihem nearly sighed with relief as she slipped quietly away from Anlorre's classroom. The day was over, the sun was just beginning to wane; it was time to return. The gnome waited. And so did the demon. Images of the demon haunted her relentlessly as she had attempted to focus on her daily tasks and the mindlessness of routine only offering wider spaces for her mind to wander in. She wondered about him and his kind. She was curious about his voice… could he speak in a language she could understand? She wanted to ask him many things, though the questions eluded her.

A hand on her shoulder stopped Merihem in her tracks.

"A moment, please," Anlorre's firm but kind voice sounded behind her.

Merihem turned to face the other woman. Anlorre's face showed concern. She was not an old woman, but certainly looked it at times. The strain of unknown worries and stresses had already printed small lines on her brown skin, and the lines stood out sharply when she immersed herself in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Merihem inquired. Perhaps it was out of place to direct such a personal question to a superior, but Anlorre's cloudy expression was not lost on her.

"Be mindful of your curiosity, Merihem. Many have stood where you now stand, and not all have overcome. You may sense answers, but not to any question you have asked. Take care that you find the Right answers within the bounds of the Right path. The shadows grow long once you wander away. You will not find your way back; you will lose yourself in those shadows and whatever remains will serve as nothing more than a tool for the empowerment of evil," Anlorre cautioned firmly.

The mage instantly noted Merihem's rapidly shifting facial expressions: surprise to confusion to fear to indignation back to a forcibly applied mask of neutrality, all in the blink of an eye. Anlorre knew now that she had been correct. It was common for her students, for people in general, to have a fascination with and a healthy fear-driven respect for evil. Stories of heinous crimes and brutal warlords were always tavern favorites; it was human nature. Everyone needed a milestone on which to base his or her own personal goodness. Let them explore, let them delve. Fear always stopped them at a certain point. A rare few might stop themselves from falling into evil out of a respect for life, but Anlorre knew that for most there was nothing but a thin layer of terror stopping them: a terror of getting caught, a terror of who could do worse… it was irrelevant. The fear was a deterrent, and that was all that mattered.

Anlorre saw the curiosity written all over Merihem's face and body language and eyes and this was normal. The lack of fear was a cause for concern.

"You have been below," Anlorre continued, not giving Merihem a chance for excuses. She remained cryptic in order to further read the other woman's reactions. Anlorre found that, when seeking information from a person, direct questioning was often a poor approach. A suggestion was adequate; the other person's mind would immediately supply the relevant answer, and display it all over their face. Words were optional.

Merihem watched Anlorre looking at her, knew the other woman had seen unspoken confessions and apologies and questions. There was no point in denial.

"I'm still alive, though. They didn't hurt me," Merihem replied weakly.

"That's why I'm worried. I think it would be unwise for you to return. I know the temptations are great… I know. That is what's easy to see. What isn't so easy to see is the danger. The consequences. The oathbreakers brought the Burning Legion to this world. They brought evil into this world. By associating with them, you do nothing but propagate this evil. You thoughtlessly and selfishly endanger your life and the lives of everyone you know. The oathbreakers may simply need an informant. Think about that," Anlorre finished quietly.

"An informant?" Merihem repeated clumsily.

Anlorre steadily continued her explanation. "Merihem, you know the history. You know the oathbreakers betrayed us to further their own power. The only reason they still exist is because of negligence… and further defections from our ranks. They do not think highly of us, obviously. They know we hunt them."

"How are they allowed to exist in Stormwind, then? Why do we not destroy them? Do they wage war against us?" Merihem pressed, her desire for answers overriding her tact.

Anlorre pursed her lips and looked hard at Merihem. There was no trace of fear in her student's eyes or voice. She was not asking because she sought indirect reassurance. She was asking because she wanted to know.

"Think on what I've said to you," Anlorre replied, choosing not to answer, "Very little in this world stands between civilization and the chaos. Good evening."

With a polite nod of dismissal, she swept past Merihem with a swish of robes. Merihem stood surprised; not that Anlorre had discovered her, but that she had opted for a direct confrontation about such a potentially sensitive matter. Anlorre was typically the type to follow a procedure for everything: there was always a series of guidelines, or a committee, or some sort of process that preceded action. Spur of the moment action was unlike her. This breech in Anlorre's usual behavior impressed the seriousness of her words upon Merihem. Despite Anlorre's stern and cautious tone, Merihem had detected a note of urgency.

Urgency… Merihem felt it. The gnome would be waiting. And so would the demon.

* * *

From across a small table in the corner of a tea shop, Anlorre faced her childhood friend Laeryn Chase. Laeryn was a thick, sturdily built woman several years Anlorre's senior. The two women had chosen relatively opposite paths in life: Anlorre had opted for the taciturn abstraction of arcane study, while Laeryn dreamed of the battlefield, sun glinting on armor as she fought for the Light. Her dream burst into reality as she ascended through the ranks of both Stormwind's military and clergy, now a seasoned and distinguished paladin. They had maintained a vague, mostly professional contact as the years passed. Mostly they sought each other when their respective institutions required aid or a favor from the other.

"You still seek protection for these… warlocks beneath our city?" Laeryn inquired. Her demeanor was neutral, but her voice laden with disdain.

"I know this runs contrary to your personal beliefs and wishes, Laeryn. I am aware of the threat they pose to the city. However, this is a time when we must choose our battles wisely. The Scourge grows," Anlorre said. She stirred her tea thoughtfully, studying the ripples in the liquid.

"The Scourge," Laeryn muttered. She lowered her head, her face partially hidden by a shock of ebony hair.

"We cannot fight a war on three fronts. Between the Horde and the Scourge, our forces are spread thin. We must choose our battles wisely," Anlorre repeated, "Which would you fight?"

Laeryn rested her elbows on the table, brows furrowed, fingers steepled. "Like you say our forces are spread thin. The Horde is relentless. Half the time it's all I can do to ensure that our fringe towns aren't completely razed. Our options are few when it comes to dealing with the Scourge… our only hope comes from the fact that the Horde seem to fear them as much as we do."

"Undeath is a nightmare fate for any living creature."

Laeryn sighed deeply, resigned. "Indeed it is. And I suppose you're right… knowing that warlocks are living beneath the city I've given an oath to protect makes my skin crawl. I consider this allowance temporary, Anlorre, and you should as well. The moment I've the men and resources to spare, the oathbreakers and their Burning Legion allies will be out of my city and hopefully out of existence as well."

"Comparatively speaking, the Legion is a relatively minor threat," Anlorre said carefully.

"Nothing about the Legion is a 'minor threat'", snapped Laeryn, "Those demons don't simply seek to end life. They want to remake the Universe itself, according to their own twisted laws and desires." Her face contorted with disgust.

"I know. Their power is immense."

"And uncontrollable. That's the danger of having warlocks running loose in Stormwind. They're so blinded by their desire for power that they're oblivious to whatever costs they must pay to obtain it. Allegiance to demons is something normal people would consider a pretty steep price."

"They can control it, Laeryn."

"Can they? If the warlocks are the ones in control, why does the Legion continue to plot its attacks at the edges of this world?"

Anlorre shrugged. "I don't believe they control the entire Legion. Just… the occasional denizen, as it were. And Stormwind still stands, despite their presence."

"Not through lack of trying on their part," Laeryn shot back, "A covert war is still a war."

"True. But we must also remember that the warlocks and their… servants? Minions? Are no allies of the Scourge either. Warlocks may not value life in the way we do, and they may not fear death either. But Undeath would rob them of the power they sacrificed so much to obtain. The mindlessness of the disease would forever wipe away their sentience and will, and sever their ties with the shadows."

Silence fell between the two women. Anlorre's words carried heavy implications. With the quickness of a practiced strategist, Laeryn sifted through them. "You want to seek a… cooperation of some sort with the warlocks." She spoke slowly and heavily, making no effort to hide her distaste at the idea.

"Not necessarily. However, while not necessarily my friend, the enemy of my enemy is certainly not another enemy."


	3. Chapter 3 The Law

Rating (this chapter): PG

Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to WoW and don't make any money off this.

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_**Chapter 3 - The Law**_

Within the thick-walled confines of Stormwind Keep, Lord Baurles Wishock pored anxiously over reports of recent criminal activity in Stormwind. A deep frown creased his face as he adjusted small, moon-shaped glasses on the tip of his nose. The reports were grave. Lord Wishock's position as commander-in-chief of Stormwind's defenses was well-earned; crime within the city had dropped to an all-time low since he had taken over the job. He sighed, ruffling the hairs of his salt-and-pepper mustache. If his job had taught him anything it was that enforcing the law more stringently only inspired people to break it more creatively. The latest reports from his police forces were highly distressing. There was talk of a cabal of demon-worshippers swarming in a long-forgotten crypt below the city. Consorting with demons and practicing shadow magic had been strictly illegal in Stormwind since the city's founding; such things invariably led to violence and oppression, and some of the bloodiest chapters in Azeroth's history featured warlocks as prominent and exceptionally unpleasant characters.

The seriousness of this new internal threat weighed heavily on Wishock. Allowing the Burning Legion a foothold in Stormwind was unthinkable. The situation would have to be handled with extreme care; open violence within the city was a danger to civilians and a strain on already-taxed public morale. The information his police had provided was enough to confirm the warlocks' presence and give a good estimate of their location, but there was nothing about their numbers or what exactly they were doing. Though a good start, it was too little information to act upon. How exactly to find out more was a troubling question. Many of Stormwind's internal defense forces had been sent away to aid the Alliance in battles against the Horde and the Scourge. There were none to spare.

A sharp knock on the heavy oak door of his office jarred Wishock out of his troubling reverie. "Whatever it is, I don't have time," he shouted gruffly. He could not be bothered with errands and tattle-tales at a time like this.

"Lieutenant Chase here, Lord Wishock. I've spoken with the archmage Anlorre Ferrington," came a strong contralto voice from outside the door.

"Very well. Come in, Lieutenant," Wishock called back. Laeryn was his right-hand woman, a reliable second-in-command. Due to her dual religious and military training as a paladin, Laeryn's convictions and sense of righteousness were as powerful as her strength in battle. Wishock saw the tremendous value in that combination.

"Well? What news?" Wishock said with a touch of impatience as Laeryn approached his desk.

"I spoke with the archmage Anlorre Ferrington, sir," she began.

"Lieutenant, have you seen these most recent reports?" Wishock interjected, ignoring her.

"No, sir."

"They tell me of a cabal of warlocks within our very own city of Stormwind. Were you aware of this?" Wishock inquired tensely.

"The archmage knew," Laeryn blurted, "That's what I spoke with her about. She wanted to tell me."

"Oh?" Wishock said with renewed interest, "And what does the archmage know of this?"

"Very little, sir. Only where they are."

Wishock let out an exasperated sigh. Criminals were too good these days. He yearned for a drink.

"My reports have already given me that information. If you've nothing further to report, you are dismissed," he said curtly, hiding his disappointment.

"The archmage knows of our situation, sir," Laeryn pressed, "She knows of our troop shortages. She had a suggestion on how to best handle the warlocks."

"Lieutenant, I intend to the 'handle' the warlocks according to the Light-given laws of this city. The punishment for consorting with demons and practicing shadow magic is death. It is a grave and intolerable threat to our security," Wishock said, an edge creeping into his voice.

"I am aware of the laws, sir, and I don't dream of contesting them. Warlocks and demons are abominations against the Light. But given our current lack of resources and manpower, how do you suggest we deal with them?" Laeryn pressed.

Wishock was silent for a moment. "I'm still working on that," he said quietly. A feeling of chagrin crept over him; how had he allowed warlocks to flourish in his own city, unnoticed? And what of Stormwind's former military might, now so scattered and over-taxed it could barely defend itself?

"Anlorre, the archmage… she suggested that we leave the warlocks be for the time being," Laeryn explained nervously, "She pointed out that we must choose our battles wisely… can we fight wars both within and without?"

Wishock stared hard at her. "The archmage suggests I allow dangerous crime to flourish in my city? I cannot allow this."

"I don't know exactly what she meant, sir," Laeryn said, feeling rather helpless, "Most likely that we should focus our forces to prevent further losses of life in our border towns. The Horde never seems to tire of attacking those outposts. And the Scourge increases its numbers every day! They could mobilize at any time."

"I am aware of our situation, Lieutenant. The Scourge is well-monitored, I assure you. I receive daily reports of their movements in relation to Stormwind. Same with the Horde. Both enemies lie at or beyond the outskirts of our territory. The warlocks are an enemy right here, within my own walls!" he practically shouted.

"We cannot afford to pull troops away from the border towns. We have an absolute minimum of defense there as is. If we take that away the Horde will raze those towns for certain. That's a potentially significant loss of life," Laeryn countered.

Wishock's eyes hardened. "Lieutenant, the border towns are not my responsibility. Stormwind is. And right now, in Stormwind, there is a thriving cabal of demon worshippers crawling around doing Light only knows what! Do you honestly think we can afford to give the Burning Legion that kind of foothold in our own city?" he shouted.

Laeryn was silent.

Wishock continued, "I will call troops back to the city. This operation will be handled discreetly, however. And due to its importance and sensitive nature, I will personally see to gathering intelligence on these warlocks."

"As you wish, sir," Laeryn said quietly. She stared at the floor and chewed her lower lip. Wishock was right, of course, and Laeryn fully agreed with him. Knowing that warlocks walked freely in Stormwind filled her with disgust. When Wishock had collected more information about them, Laeryn hoped to personally see to their eradication. Who would aid her, though? What resources had they to spare? Was it worth the lives of the citizens living the in border towns?

"You are dismissed, Lieutenant. I will call for you when I have gathered sufficient information to formulate a plan. In the meantime, I will send out a return order to some of our troops. They will be needed here," Wishock said.

"Yes… of course. I await further orders, sir." Laeryn saluted and left the room, fighting a rising sense of dread.


	4. Chapter 4 A Matter of Perspective

Rating (this chapter): PG

Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to WoW and don't make any money off this.

_________________________

_**Chapter 4 - A Matter of Perspective**_

Again the cool, soft darkness of the crypt rose up to greet Merihem. The chaos and rush of the world above faded away. Above, everyone hurried, there was a franticness about their movements and slightly raised voices, so painfully focused on their personal business that world was totally lost to them. All this frenetic energy was white noise to Merihem, a dull buzzing roar in the back of her mind that she never noticed until it faded away into the peaceful darkness of the warlocks' world below. Only there did she know true silence. Here the world opened to her. Tendrils of awareness probed at the edges of her consciousness, seeking what lay beneath. This black unknown did not frighten Merihem; it excited her with possibilities, as something to make her own.

The gnome had expected her. He motioned her through flickering candlelight and deep shadows. Wordlessly he hopped up onto wooden bench, and motioned that she do the same opposite him. A small study table stood between them, adorned only with a single thick candle. The orange light accentuated the inky black color of the gnome's eyes, and in contrast, the pale golden color of Merihem's hair. He continued to say nothing and closed his eyes for a moment.

A touch of awkwardness began to grow inside Merihem. Was he waiting for her to speak? Was this a trial of some sort? Anlorre's cautionary words echoed in her ears, and Merihem shifted uncomfortably. Maybe returning here had been a poor decision.

She was about to speak, to ask to be excused, when the measured clop of great hoofed steps reached her ears. The demon she'd seen yesterday emerged from the darkness behind the gnome. The broad expanse of his chest rose and fell in even breaths; he seemed less bent on killing today. The great axe that nearly ended Merihem's life was still in his hand though, and she involuntarily shrank back a bit. She looked away, not wanting to provoke him by staring.

The gnome watched Merihem's nervous shifting with a touch of sadistic amusement. He watched as she forced her eyes to the surface of the table, only to snatch poorly-concealed glances at his demon. He allowed the moment to draw on a bit longer. He gave her a chance to be afraid and tremble under the weight of her decision to come here. To his surprise she managed to compose herself a bit. A deep breath, a straightening of posture, and finally expectantly locking her pale grey eyes onto his.

"You chose to return. You're not afraid of what you've seen here?" the gnome finally spoke.

"No…" Merihem replied, suddenly unsure of her answer. Was she afraid? She had almost been killed last time she entered here; her curiosity proved nearly fatal. Almost instantly she felt her blame shift from the demon to herself. She had intruded into a world to which she didn't belong. Fear morphed to a twinge of guilt.

"No, I'm not afraid," she repeated more strongly.

The gnome folded his tiny hands on the table and studied her. "Why?"

Merihem paused, at something of a loss of how to answer. "I guess I just… I don't see any reason why I should be."

"You know who we are."

"Yes."

"Most people would consider that something to be frightened of."

"I know, I'm familiar with the history lessons. What I see here is not what I am told, however."

"My demon almost killed you yesterday."

The demon seemed to be listening intently to the exchange. He hovered a short way behind his small master. The candle light cast a dull sheen on the plates of his armor and a stark contrast to the lines of muscle on his torso.

Merihem grew slightly annoyed. The gnome seemed to be goading her, attempting to elicit a specific response. Merihem didn't understand what; her responses thus far had been sincere and truthful, but didn't seem to be what the gnome wanted to hear.

"So why not? What answer are you looking for here?" she retorted, tired of his vague, leading statements.

The gnome raised his eyebrows and something like a smile touched the corners of his mouth.

"You're still capable of asking questions, which means you're still able to learn," the gnome said, finally seeming pleased with her response, "Do you want to learn?"

"Well, yes," snapped Merihem, "otherwise I wouldn't've come back." Merihem was fairly certain the gnome wasn't slow-witted, though his questions were leading her to believe somewhat otherwise. The demon was looking at her intently; he seemed to sense her annoyance and displeasure, and watched contentedly as it smoldered inside her. Merihem innately knew that hiding from the demon was impossible. In an odd sort of way she found this to be a relief, almost a permission to express and emote fully.

"You're a mage," the gnome continued, "Which is how many of us begin. Unlike those who live above, however, we see it as a stepping stone of sorts. We do not see truth or mastery in the study of simple, tangible forces limited to this world. The Universe is vast and terrible and empty and teeming with life. Our world of Azeroth is a single speck in a mote of dust, one world among many, and we who live below do not seek to limit our understanding by confining our minds to this world. Our minions, the demonic races, come from other worlds. We are united by the power of shadow, which stretches between worlds."

He paused, and his expression softened slightly. "That's why I stopped my demon's axe; your words yesterday told me that you feel this way also. You showed me that you could understand, that your mind did not have the walls that most others do."

"Who are you?" Merihem asked.

"I am one of the leaders here. Not the only one, nor the most distinguished. My name is Brenwick."

"And… him?" Merihem's eyes flickered to the demon.

"Ah, yes… the demons are a source of tremendous interest…" Brenwick muttered before answering. Mine is a member of mo'arg demon race. Among their ranks he is a common low-ranked foot soldier. A felguard, he'd be called by people of this world."

Of this world… Merihem rolled the phrase around in her mind, attempting to process the idea of places beyond. Another torrent of questions poured into her mind, overwhelming her. Nor could she fully detach herself from Anlorre's lectures and cautionary statements. Brenwick did not seem an evil or cruel man; intense, secretive, and cautious, perhaps, but not cruel. So why was he and his brethren forced into hiding and actively hunted? Merihem had been long taught that evil wore many faces and carried many names. And Merihem knew of felguards as well. Until her encounter with Brenwick's she had never seen one, but had heard stories of their sadism and brutality. The demon did appear constructed solely for combat, with thick coils of neatly defined muscle covering his body. Armor plating replaced clothing, covering his hips and legs and hands and head. She followed the curves of the three long spines emerging from his upper back and felt apprehension creep up on her again. She remembered what Anlorre had said about demons: monsters incapable of compassion or kindness, and with a will bent only toward destroying life.

"But demons are… why is he here?"

"Demons are… evil?" Brenwick said with a faint chuckle.

"You brought evil to this world!" Merihem blurted, unsure if the statement was accusation, a confirmation or a question.

Brenwick tugged at his beard. "The history books do tell the truth in that regard."

Merihem felt a stab of disappointment, almost hurt, at Brenwick's answer. She had harbored a secret hope that the history books had been wrong and that she would be able to find greater breadth of study here without locking herself away from society and tacitly joining forces with the beings who were, historically, responsible for all strife in the world. Brenwick's blunt admission shattered this fragile hope, and she had not realized how strongly she clung to it until it was gone.

"Ah, you were expecting to hear 'our side of the story'", Brenwick chuckled again.

"I don't know," Merihem confessed quietly, shrinking into her chair, "I guess… why?"

"What is evil, Merihem?" Brenwick asked.

Taken aback by question, Merihem was slow to respond. "It's the intent to cause harm, cruelty, suffering…"

"Suffering," Brenwick interrupted, "It is suffering."

"So then why? Why suffering? Why was this brought into the world?"

"Because we had a reached a limit without it. Without an obstacle to overcome, without a goal to reach beyond, we could go no further with our studies. So we placed ourselves in mortal danger. We found breaches between worlds, portals. We began passing through… at least our minds. There were terrible things, things that we didn't understand. When they happened to us, we had to find ways to make them stop."

Merihem was incredulous. "You brought suffering to this world because you needed a challenge?"

Brenwick calmly returned her gaze. "You think simplistically and selfishly, mage. The decision wasn't solely about ourselves. It was about all life on this world. We did not choose lightly. You need to think, if you will, about the world before we made our choice. We felt no wonder, no appreciation, no glory, no courage, no power, and no love. How can you feel pride without overcoming adversity? How can you know courage if you are never tested? People fear what they don't understand, but how can you feel wonder and awe unless you are confronted with the unknown, that which is greater than and beyond yourself? Uncontrollable? How can you gain power unless you conquer? How can you appreciate love unless you been without it? We achieve to improve. We discover through necessity. We learn to empower."

Merihem was silent.

Brenwick continued. "Have you suffered, Merihem?"

She swallowed hard and didn't answer for a long time. Brenwick waited.

"My father… he died when I was young. In a war with the Horde."

"Like so many others. Though death is not suffering."

"My mother suffered. She had nothing and couldn't support me. That's why she sent me away when I was young, to the Kirin Tor mages' academy here. And I suffered there, without her," Merihem shot back. She cradled her head in her hands and stared fixedly at the tabletop.

"And if he had lived, what would you have become?"

"I don't know! "

"Would you have been happy?"

"How am I supposed to know that now? That's not what happened. I get that you're trying to find some way to tell me that his death was 'for good'. But it wasn't," Merihem replied, her voice rising.

"Suffering is never 'for good'. It simply is. But sometimes, people have purposes in life beyond the mediocre and safe. I have suffered as well. I understand the experience you have shared." He gave her an intense look before continuing. "In any case, that is a brief, basic overview of the reasoning behind our choice. If you cannot accept it, leave now. You will not be able to return. We will see that you share nothing of what you have seen here."

Merihem closed her eyes, fighting down a wave of conflicting emotions. Why did it matter if she had suffered? Why was she forced to think about it now? She was angry at herself for bringing her own personal tragedies into Brenwick's otherwise objective discussion of ethics. Her judgment was clouded by the still-lingering pang of loss. She didn't leave, though. This was not the right time to make a decision. She remained silent. Brenwick waited. Merihem drew deep, slow breaths, focusing on the passage of air in and out of her body. She meditated briefly, and the fog of confusion slowly receded from her mind. Again she felt the draw of this place: the openness, the understanding, the unknown.

"I'll stay," she said, barely above a whisper. She slumped in her chair. The emotional outburst had been embarrassing and exhausting.

"I think you've chosen wisely," Brenwick said, "You will find that there is more to yourself, to any person, than that which is easily visible in the light."


	5. Chapter 5 Concessions

Rating (this chapter): PG

Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to WoW and don't make any money off this.

_________________________

_**Chapter 5 - Concessions**_

"Wishock is a complete fool," Anlorre spat.

Laeryn sighed wearily.

"And he has tunnel vision! He fails to see the big picture, he fails to see the forest for the trees… he fails. Does he honestly mean to pull troops away from our border towns to spy on the warlocks?" Anlorre demanded.

"He said he'd see to it personally." Laeryn was rather taken aback by the other woman's uncharacteristic display of emotion.

"Does he understand that by doing so he essentially condemns every single person in our border towns and outposts to death? Without adequate reinforcements there, the Horde will roll right over them and gain ground into our territory. How can he consider chasing shadows more important than the lives of our people?" Anlorre steadied her voice, but her honey-colored eyes shown with anger.

Laeryn stood conflicted. "Look, Anlorre, I understand your position. I'd also ask you to see mine. Warlocks and demons are abomination, a violation of everything the Light stands for," she said firmly.

"I understand that you it that way, Laeryn. I know what your job entails, and I'm aware of your beliefs and feelings toward warlocks. I share them, for the most part. But we can't underestimate the Scourge! We have to have troops standing by and ready for when the Scourge mobilizes. We both know it's only a matter of time."

"I know, okay? I know! Just what in the Light's name am I supposed to do? I can't stop Wishock. In a way, I don't want to. The law must be upheld in our city and the demon worshippers must be driven out. I am sworn to serve this city, and the Church of the Light. But I- I wish it didn't have to come at the cost of other citizens' lives," Laeryn sighed, looking at an undefined spot in the distance.

"Then think about what best serves this city. Leaving it vulnerable to an attack from the most awful army we've ever faced, or… chasing some shadows."

Laeryn turned away with a shaky sigh. She dreaded the decisions that loomed ahead.

* * *

"Tell me about him," Merihem said, inclining her head toward the silent but ever-present felguard. Her fascination with the demon had grown steadily as the days passed. She couldn't precisely pinpoint why; she figured it was natural, in a way. He was a creature from a different world, little-understood. Whenever she visited the crypt, she listened intently to Brenwick's words but often found her gaze flickering back and forth from the gnome's face to the demon's. His face was ugly, sharply angled, partially concealed by armor and punctuated by sparkling red eyes. A true monster. Yet he always seemed so calm, almost docile. He never spoke in her presence. Merihem wished he would, longing to know what sort of voice would emanate from that hulking, powerful body.

"He seems tacit enough, doesn't he?" Brenwick commented as if picking up on her thoughts. He looked back at the felguard for emphasis, his expression softening for a moment.

"Do not be misled. He is not docile, he is merely tightly controlled. The link between my soul and his prevents him from killing me— which he would be likely to do otherwise, given the fact that I forced him from his own existence on Xoroth and brought him here to be my minion," Brenwick finished with a dark chuckle.

Xoroth: the name struck a chord of familiarity with Merihem. She recalled reading about it fairly extensively in one of the books Brenwick had lent her (On the Origin of Demonic Races; mandatory reading for all warlock acolytes). Xoroth was the world from which the Burning Legion sprang; the demonic races which comprised the Legion were its native inhabitants. The world itself was a forsaken wasteland that would be consider utterly inhospitable by other types of life. Its surface was a seething network of volcanoes, lava flows, and towering jagged rocks.

"Xoroth sounds terrible, actually. From what I recall," Merihem mentioned.

"For humans like yourself, perhaps. The Twisting Nether flows strongly in and through that world. It is speculated that this is why the volcanic activity never ceases; the Nether energies drive it. However, the strength of the Nether on that world is the primary reason that the demonic races were the first to realize its power, and still the only to truly understand it to the extent of actually tapping into and using it. That is how the Legion is able to move so swiftly between worlds," Brenwick elaborated.

Merihem looked to the felguard, almost expecting him to chime in. He remained silent and stoic as ever, though Merihem thought she detected a distant, resentful overtone in his expression.

Brenwick noted Merihem's intent, curious gaze directed at the felguard. "Bah, you've read the books I lent you. You know all that. Know need for redundancy here," he said with a wave of his hand.

"As I was saying, do not be deceived by my felguard's calm demeanor. Like all demons, his sole enjoyment is the suffering of other creatures. He is bound to me, however; I alone know his name, and thus I alone control him and can harness his power. His actions are dictated by my words," the gnome continued.

"He has no free will?"

"He does. However, when I speak his name and command him, he must obey. He cannot do otherwise."

Merihem suppressed a smile as she continued her intense study of the felguard. A rather humorous thought popped into her mind: would the demon do her laundry? Carry things for her? The mental image, however silly and inappropriate was almost too much and she cleared her throat sharply to muffle a giggle.

"This amount of power we have over our demons also bring a certain element of danger. One must be cautious. The power balance can shift. Half of his soul may be within you, but half of yours is within him. It is all too easy for the master to become the slave. Felguards are exceedingly cunning creatures; they will miss no opportunity to exploit any perceived weakness they find in you. They have proven to be quite good at not only sniffing these out, but inducing them as well," Brenwick warned.


	6. Chapter 6 Consequences

Rating (this chapter): PG

Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to WoW and don't make any money off this.

_________________________

_**Chapter 6 - Consequences**_

At the conclusion of the day's lectures, the students of the Kirin Tor College streamed out of the hall, Merihem among them. Her mage studies were of little importance to her anymore, but she understood the necessity of keeping up appearances. Thus, she showed her face for Anlorre's lectures, hearing but seldom listening as her thought drifted to demons and shadows.

With the conclusion of another day, she could begin another evening learning from Brenwick in the crypt. Brenwick was noticeably pleased with her progress and had hinted that she was nearly ready to summon a demon of her own. This thought elated Merihem; she had admired the imposing physique and presence of Brenwick's demon since she had first laid eyes on him. Of course, there were many other types of demons and any one of them could be pulled through the summoning ritual, but there was never any doubt in Merihem's mind that she too would be bound to a felguard. Those mysterious and sullen creatures fascinated her to no end, and Brenwick's demonology lessons were always a highlight.

Anlorre abruptly fell in step beside Merihem. Merihem hadn't seen or heard the archmage approaching, so absorbed was she in her thoughts. Merihem's heart pounded. She had no doubt that Anlorre knew about her increasingly frequent visits to the crypt.

"I need to talk to you, Merihem," Anlorre said quietly, tugging Merihem aside. She followed Anlorre in silence through a long series of winding hallways to one of the highest points in the tower. Anlorre's private office.

There was no doubt in Merihem's mind as to why she had been brought here. Students were only called to the archmage's office for the most serious and severe of business. Merihem began to blurt out an apology, but Anlorre cut her off. "There is no need for that. Yes, I know. No, I don't condone what you're doing. In fact, Merihem Black, at this point you may consider yourself expelled from the Kirin Tor College. You are no longer welcome here. You have chosen to aid our enemy," Laeryn scolded harshly. Merihem was crestfallen. Despite her lack of enthusiasm for her studies as a mage, practicality nagged at her. There was certainly no way in this world for a warlock to earn an honest living. She would be shunned by her former peers here, and joining another profession was similarly out of the question. Anlorre would make sure any prospective teachers or employers knew of her little side-hobby. Merihem lowered her head to hide her embarrassment, though the tips of her ears still burned red. She fought down tears of bitter disappointment and self-anger. This is what she had expected on some level; Anlorre was far too astute to be kept in the dark about any prospective warlocks among her students. That only made Merihem feel worse, somehow; how could she have been so naïve and foolish? Where would she stay now that her old dormitory was closed to her?

There was no escaping it, though. "I understand," Merihem whispered.

"However," Anlorre said briskly, ignoring Merihem's distress, "There is a situation in which your aid may be required."

Laeryn looked up again and blinked at Anlorre. The woman who had just condemned her to life as a pariah was now implying that she need her help. Merihem was lost.

"A friend of mine will be here shortly. We have things to discuss," Anlorre said. Awkward silence fell between the two women as they waited.

After an eternity of silent minutes, the door of the office flew open and Laeryn strode in. She stopped hard upon seeing Merihem and studied her coldly. Merihem returned the stare, rather taken aback at seeing a high-ranking paladin striding casually into the archmage's office. She could practically feel the disgust and dislike dripping from her. The paladin was a powerful woman; not only in terms of her position, but in the appearance of her body as well. Stolid, stern, and clad entirely in shining silver armor emblazoned with the Stormwind city insignia, Merihem sensed this was a woman not to be trifled with. She nodded curtly in greeting.

Laeryn didn't return the gesture. Her jaw tensed and her hand rested on the handle of her hammer. A warlock, free and alive in her presence! Laeryn's lip curled slightly in disgust. She never thought she would live to see the day. The young woman before her was not the type she normally would've pegged as a demon-worshipper, either. The mage student (or former mage student, she hoped) had a rather cherubic face and light golden hair. If Laeryn had learned anything in her line of work, though, it was that appearances were not to be trusted.

"So this is the warlock," Laeryn spat.

"Yes. Her name is Merihem. Now, the reason you are still here, Merihem," Anlorre continued, "Is we that require your aid with the warlock situation."

"Anlorre, I hope whatever you have to say is awfully convincing. Because it's going to be all that stands between this warlock and the law," Laeryn snapped. She glared at Merihem for added emphasis.

"We talked about this beforehand," Anlorre replied calmly, "I have done what is necessary by school regulations and expelled her. She will have no place in this city." Laeryn relaxed very slightly.

Merihem's heart pounded, certain that Anlorre would ask her to give up information about the warlocks' goings-on. A fierce flame of loyalty flared up inside her; the warlocks were truly all she had now. "I'm not going to rat them out to you, if that's what you're after."

"Not… no. No, that is not what we are asking of you right now," Anlorre replied carefully. The harsh terms at which Laeryn had agreed to the plan were not information that Merihem needed to know. Anlorre nodded at Laeryn to continue.

The paladin placed herself as far as possible from Merihem, and continued eyeing her suspiciously. She clenched her jaw and spoke in a strained voice. "Stormwind's military currently lacks the forces needed to defend Alliance territory. Between constantly fighting back the Horde and preparing for the inevitable Scourge invasion, we- we cannot afford to fight a war at home as well." A note of shame crept into Laeryn's voice.

Merihem was acutely aware of the ancient war with the Horde; it was the same war that had claimed her father's life when she was a young child. Merihem, however, had led a rather sheltered existence, and so imagined the Horde as a far-off but constant force of evil. She had been sent away from Darkshire by her mother at a young age to study at the esteemed Kirin Tor College of the Arcane in Stormwind. They had kept in rather poor contact over the years; her mother had grown quiet and distant since the death of her father. The Scourge, the vile and relentless undead army, was something she only knew of the in the abstract, from her reading. By "war at home" Merihem could only assume that Laeryn spoke of warlocks. She said nothing and waited for Laeryn to continue.

"Therefore, we are willing to offer the warlocks a full pardon for the time being, under a single condition," Laeryn finally continued. Her voice was thin and forced; to Merihem it seemed like she had to make a tremendous effort to speak these words. "That condition is a guarantee of assistance to us in our efforts against the Horde and the Scourge." Laeryn closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to imagine what Lord Wishock or the Church leaders would think of this situation.

"Laeryn's superior Lord Wishock, the commander-in-chief of Stormwind's defense, has sent return orders to several platoons of troops defending towns at the edges of our territory. Darkshire, for example. This basically equates to a death sentence for the people living there. Without a strong enough military presence, the Horde cannot be stopped," Anlorre elaborated. Perhaps it was cruel to mention Darkshire in particular, knowing Merihem's connection with the town. However, it was also the best way to motivate her to take action.

Merihem fidgeted, feeling rather helpless. Darkshire! Her mother still lived there, despite pleas from friends and neighbors to move to a more secure town. She was too attached to Darkshire, as it reminded her of her slain husband.

"I'll help you," she answered instantly, "Whatever you need… I'll help defend Darkshire."

"And the other warlocks?" Laeryn asked. She watched Merihem's intense anxiety at the mention of Darkshire; it was exactly as Anlorre said. Revealing the threat posed to Merihem's only living relative had quite an effect.

"Yes!" Merihem replied desperately, "I mean, I'll do anything I can… I'll ask…whatever you need!"

Laeryn smiled sadly, forgetting for a moment that the other woman was a warlock and seeing only a frightened and desperate girl.

"See to it that you guarantee their cooperation in some way," Laeryn commanded, reassuming her chilly demeanor, "You may deliver your updates to me via Anlorre."

"You may not, however, set foot on these grounds," Anlorre interrupted, "I'm not making exceptions. However, I shall wait outside this tower for a few minutes after my final class each day. You know when this is."

"Speak of this conversation to no one but the other warlocks," Laeryn added sharply, "This operation is unknown to the commander-in-chief, and it shall stay this way. I'll have you know that, if he had his way, you'd all be sentenced to death."

Merihem nodded.

"You are dismissed then," Anlorre said, "Laeryn and I will escort you off the grounds."

The three women walked together in a heavy, pregnant silence. Laeryn's hostility toward Merihem had been slightly tempered, but she was still wary of the warlock. She walked a step behind Merihem and observed her carefully. The lines on Anlorre's face showed prominently. The archmage hid her guilt and disappointment toward Merihem, masking it with her usual firm, grounded stare. It was a rare occurrence that a student would not be frightened away from shadow magic at some point; to a degree Anlorre felt personally responsible for this, but her guilt carried a slight spark of admiration at the insatiable curiosity and open-minded, accidental courage of those who chose the shadow path.

Merihem's head swam and she didn't particularly listen to Anlorre's final parting speech when they reached the edge of the grounds. Very little of the earlier conversation had truly registered with her; the fact that her mother's life was in danger had galvanized her into a spurt of desperate, impulsive action. She tried to review what had just happened, forcing aside anxiety and fear. Anlorre had expelled her. This was not unexpected; she would ask Brenwick for a place to sleep in the crypt, perhaps. Secondly, whoever was in charge of Stormwind's armies had pulled border town defenses to hunt down warlocks. Darkshire was now an open target for the Horde, and her mother was in mortal danger. To counter this, she had promised Laeryn and Anlorre the aid of the warlocks, in exchange for a pardon. What? Merihem stumbled as she walked away from the grounds that had been her home for so long. She had no idea how to convince any of the other warlocks that this plan was a good idea. Relatively speaking, she was still a newcomer. She hadn't even performed her demonic summoning ritual. And, Merihem thought with a prickle of fear, how could she trust Anlorre and Laeryn? It was strange to think of Anlorre as potentially adversary after looking up to her as a mentor for many years. Those days were past now; Merihem had chosen the left-hand path the moment she set foot into the crypt.


End file.
